


what they don't understand about skating

by TayPines



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Best Friends, Cinnamon Roll Katsuki Yuuri, Crying, Gen, Human Disaster Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, References to Depression, Sad Katsuki Yuuri, Self-Esteem Issues, Supportive Phichit Chulanont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayPines/pseuds/TayPines
Summary: What they don’t understand about skating, and what they never tell you, is that in order to be successful, you have to give a piece of yourself to the ice. The rewards can be great, if you’re skilled enough, but if you’re not careful, it’ll take more from you than you can afford to give.





	what they don't understand about skating

**Author's Note:**

> This work was (loosely) inspired by Sandra Cisneros' "Eleven", which you should definitely read if you haven't already.

What they don’t understand about skating, and what they never tell you, is that in order to be successful, you have to give a piece of yourself to the ice. The rewards can be great, if you’re skilled enough, but if you’re not careful, it’ll take more from you than you can afford to give. Yuuri knows this, has had the lesson repeated to him many times by each of his handful of coaches, but no matter how often he hears it, he’s never actually managed to obey. He justifies it in a number of ways: he’s got to give the ice his all if he wants any chance at gold, he’s doing _fine_ and his skating is better than ever, and he certainly isn’t about to slow down now out of concern for his own mental or physical health.

 

He tugs the earbuds out of his ears, gliding over to the edge of the rink and bringing his water bottle to his lips with such force that he spills as much of it over himself as he manages to drink. He doesn’t mind, though—the cool of the water feels nice against his overheated skin, and the jolt of the sensation grounds him against his dramatic inner monologue. He shakes his head, half in amusement at himself and half in frustration at the quad flip that he _still_ can’t get down, even after weeks of practice. Placing his bottle back on the edge of the rink, he starts a few laps around the outer edge, throwing in a quick triple axel and a quad toe loop, just to prove to himself that he can, because _damn it, it shouldn’t be this hard._

 

Two hours later and Yuuri still hasn’t managed the jump, though he has plenty of bruises to show for his efforts. He blinks rapidly, wiping away tears before they can spill, and skates defeatedly toward the edge of the rink. He’s grateful to be alone—he hasn’t had a practice this bad in quite a while. Distantly, he realizes that he’s been at it for six hours; seven the day before, and nine the day before that, where his memory stops. His body is all but screaming at him, but he ignores it, because he has to win, and if this is the sacrifice that requires then he will make it a hundred times over. He has to be better than this, _has to_ , because failure is not an option; the Grand Prix Final is only a few weeks away, and Worlds isn’t long after. He knows he’s running out of time, can feel the familiar ball of anxiety and self-loathing in the pit of his stomach.

 

He feels a familiar wetness on his cheeks and realizes that he’s crying. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s broken down late at night like this, alone in the rink after weeks of pushing himself to his breaking point. He steps off the ice, fumbling with his blade guards and then falling into a chair, shoulders shaking as he takes his head in his hands.

 

“Yuuri,” a voice calls from the other side of the rink. It’s a mark of how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even raise his head, instead choosing to stay quiet. Footsteps grow closer, as he’d known they would.

 

Gently, he feels their arm around his shoulder, tucking him into their chest while their other hand comes up to gently play with his hair. “Yuuri,” Phichit sighs again, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

 

Yuuri grips his best friend’s shirt and fights to keep his breath steady. It’s a losing battle. A sob rips its way out of his throat and he tucks his face against Phichit’s neck, allowing himself to be held. “I know,” he gasps. “I know.”

 

Phichit says nothing, but continues to slip his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, holding him tightly as he cries.

 

“It’s going to be okay.”

 

Yuuri isn’t sure he believes him.


End file.
